


temporary bliss

by castlestr33t



Series: temporary bliss [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Bottom Harry, Daddy Kink, Friends With Benefits, Infidelity, Jealousy, M/M, do i ever write a fic without daddy kink this is ridiculous, harry catches feelings rip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-28
Updated: 2016-02-28
Packaged: 2018-05-23 19:41:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6127957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/castlestr33t/pseuds/castlestr33t
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>fwb //</p>
            </blockquote>





	temporary bliss

it started with a few simple words - sudden words (perhaps) but simple nonetheless. 'it' being the arrangement that harry seemed to have with his best friend. 

they'd been half way through harry's beloved copy of titanic, harry was teasing louis about his resemblances to leonardo dicaprio and louis was poking the grinning boy in the ribs as revenge which of course sent the curly haired boy into fits of giggles. harry had fought back just as hard, his large hands and long fingers giving him a great advantage and soon enough louis was on his back, squealing in delighted protest. reluctantly but with a shit eating grin, harry had pulled off and instead pulled louis onto his lap as they had done countless times before.

"we should fuck" louis had murmured over the sound of their breathless pants, their legs tangled on the sofa comfortably. 

harry froze his hands movements on louis' back. "fuck?" of course he knew what the word /meant/ and what it essentially entailed (he honestly wasn't /that/ naive), however the thought of doing so with his best friend - his best friend, louis! - was very foreign to him.

louis looked up from his place on harry’s chest and nodded. “yeah” he said. “we should fuck.” the smaller boy shrugged as if it wasn’t a big deal which /it wasn’t/. not really. harry had lost his virginity a long time ago to greg james - a tall, lanky brunette; which honestly, matched harry perfectly (at least aesthetic wise) - and louis had lost his to the cocky jock, zayn malik the previous year. so, technically, they weren’t fumbling losers who didn’t know what rimming was.

“why not?” louis had asked, a seductive smirk on his face and /fuck/ harry knew that louis always used that in weekend parties (usually hosted by niall horan, the school’s loud irishman) to flirt with the pretty boys in order to get what he wanted but he’d never used that on harry and /shit/, it should not have affected him as badly as it did.

but it did, of course it did. because in the next second, their lips crashed and hands wandered and moans were exchanged and clothes were torn off and hips grinded and boundaries were most definitely crossed.

needless to say, it was one of the most surprising yet most pleasurable fuck harry had ever had.

-

three years later and harry styles is still in the same predicament - fucking his best friend, being fucked by his best friend, leaving louis snoring in the warm bed and returning to his own bed seven blocks away with an ache in his ass and an even deeper ache in his heart.

harry can’t get out though. it’s a never ending cycle, but it’s his best friend and harry couldn’t never abandon louis. it’s always been those two, harryandlouis, louisandharry, the pair of them.

harry was the one that had been through the bad dates, the fights with nick that louis always seemed to get into and the dodgy haircuts. how could he bring himself to ruin that all because he felt some stupid emotions after having sex? 

the thing is, louis often gets lonely and who better to comfort him other than his dimpled, green-eyed best friend?

if louis calls harry for a hook up, it means that he’s had a fall out with nick (his on/off boyfriend) and is in drastic need of some sexual comfort which, foolishly, harry always agrees to. he knows he shouldn’t. because every time he does, he feels like he’s drowning. he feels like he can’t breathe, the weight of responsibility in making louis feel better crashing down on his shoulders, making it impossible for him to resurface and grasp at the small sliver of reality and isolation that taunts him from above.

if louis texts harry for a hook up, then that means that he’s just horny and that usually happens in between breaks from nick when louis is lonely, and horny, and wanting a warm body next to him to touch and unravel bit by bit. harry doesn’t drown as much when this happens but his body burns, his heart burns, his soul burns, burns achingly for something more than just lonely, desperate sex. (lonely on louis’ part and most definitely desperate on harry’s part)

harry is addicted to the shape of louis’ body. the ways his tummy will stick out slightly; the curve of his hips; the roundness of his firm ass; the size of his petit hands; the sharpness of his jaw; the colour of louis’ tan that he constantly seems to have even in the coldness of the british weather; the - well, everything.

sometimes, harry wants to just forget all the past, forget the silly jokes, the breathy moans, the slick skin meeting and the goofy looks exchanged between the two and just lay louis down to map out his entire body. he wants to kiss every inch of the doncaster lad and stroke all of louis’ curves and blow across all of the smaller boy’s sensitive spots to make him squirm.

but he can’t.

because the silly jokes, the breathy moans, the slick skin meeting, and the goofy looks exchanged /have/ happened and they /are/ part of harry and louis’ past. nothing can change that and despite everything, harry can never bring himself to regret that.

yes, louis tomlinson was the best thing that ever happened to him.

on nights like these (cold, cruel british weather whipping around him roughly like a slap to the face), harry is glad he has someone to be close to intimately, even if it is just for sex and even if there is limited cuddling once everything is said and done, if any at all, if harry is being honest with himself. harry wraps himself in his favourite grey pea coat and heads out into the rain. by the time he’s passed old couples fighting to get back home, squirrels hiding in their nests and large puddles that threaten to pull him in by his brown boots, harry is soaked through, his clothes sticking claustrophobically to his muscular body, hair matted to his forehead and eyelashes loaded with individual raindrops.  
louis smirks when he sees him. “wet outside, haz?” he teases and harry forces out a laugh. 

“funny” he says deadpan and moves into the flat quickly.

in a matter of seconds, louis has harry's back pinned to the closed door and has sunk down to his knees with a devilish look in his eyes as he swiftly works the belt buckle and zipper of harry’s jeans. louis pushes the wet material past down harry’s thighs to rest on his knees; then harry's cock is out leaving him to feel incredibly exposed yet, at the same time, not exposed enough.

harry’s head rolls back to hit back against the door frame as louis wraps his bruised lips around his best friend’s aching cock. “shit!” harry curses and sucks his lower lip into his mouth; green eyes stare down at louis’ high cheekbones and bright eyes.

what harry loves about this is that louis is always so eager when he sucks harry’s cock; hollowed cheeks flashing off his high cheekbones, pink lips encasing harry’s cock, small noises of approval vibrating around the hard member and his throat flexing and relaxing to bring more of his best friend’s further down his throat. harry comes with a groan, hips bucking up in slow motions as he rides out his high, chest heaving gently underneath his old ramones shirt.

his body is slowly accompanied by louis’ and they stand there, lips inches apart and hips bumping together. 

“you gonna come ride daddy’s cock on the sofa, sweetheart?” louis purrs into his ear and harry has to squeeze his eyes shut and tightens his grip on louis’ hip in an attempt to prevent himself from going mad because, let’s face it, louis tomlinson knows how to drive him to the edge of the cliff, taunt in his ear then yank him back by the collar of his worn shirt. 

“yeah” he says as he wriggles out of his tight jeans and kicks them away in a fluster.

he can feel louis’ grin against his heated skin and follows him blindly to the sofa like a lost puppy. louis drops his pants until he’s left in just his boxers and drops harry’s hand to tug his tee-shirt over his head. harry pretends his hand doesn’t burn with the rejection. louis drops onto the sofa and spreads his legs, beckoning for louis to join him on his lap; which harry obliges to, of course.

the eager boy clambers as close to the sitting boy as he can and wants to drag his swollen lips across louis’ so that he can taste him and claim louis as his; but harry knows not to (“i’m not yours, remember?” louis had reminded him once whilst harry was knuckles deep in his tight ass. “not like that,” he had panted. “we’re just friends.” harry can’t remember being able to breathe and thrusting harder into louis’ tightness is all that he can recall himself doing to stop himself from drowning in despair). louis may not be his but harry sure as hell has given his heart, soul and body to louis - whether he was aware of the fact or not. so instead, harry waits patiently with earnest eyes watching his best friend; begging him in screaming silence.

louis’ petit hands reach around harry’s waist to claw at the younger boy’s back desperately as he crashes their lips together with hunger. his blunt fingernails leave hot, red marks staining the pale skin and harry mewls into louis’ mouth. he can feel the hard cock pressing up against the crack of his arse and harry parts his lips to grant louis more access; which he most definitely takes as he licks into harry’s hot mouth, sucking on the end of harry’s pink tongue. “lou,” the younger boy whines and louis smirks in triumphance. “do you want my cock, baby?” he cooes and harry nearly passes out from the smoothness of the clear as clarity voice. he likes louis’ voice when they’re like this, mewling and panting against hot skin whilst their hips rock in slow motions and hands leave red, hungry marks; simply because louis’ voice isn’t as raw and low as it is when he’s getting ready to fuck him until he can’t think or form a valid sentence. “yeah,” harry whimpers.

keeping their swollen lips attached, louis leans back to get more of harry’s body on him as one arm reaches out to grab the packet of lube from the adjacent coffee table that he always has lying around. (“better safe than sorry,” he laughed breathlessly in between moans the first time harry rimmed louis on the sofa whilst nick was away.) his calm fingers rip open the packet and smears the substance all over his three middle digits; he works his cock roughly, hissing at the contact with full blown-out pupils staring at harry. “put your fingers in yourself,” he growls out through an open mouth, and harry follows suit hurriedly, but he only has enough time to scissor three fingers in his hole before louis is yanking the fingers away with a hissed “mine”, followed by a shallow thrust, effectively shutting the boy up as he enters him.

“motherfucking cocksucker!” harry cries out and rolls his head back to expose his bitten raw neck.

louis’ hands find purchase in harry’s bony hips as harry grabs onto the hair at the back of his best friend’s neck so that he has some sort of leverage. “bounce” louis commands and harry would laugh if he weren’t so fucking desperate for his best friend. harry lifts his hips and slams back down on a mewl, swallowing up the curses falling from louis’ lips as their mouths meet one more time.

harry is falling, falling, falling; always falling, whether he’s just falling further for his best friend, or whether he’s falling deeper onto louis’ cock, in the end it doesn’t really matter because one way or another, he is collapsing for louis in a way that bruises him.

they fall into a merciless rhythm that has harry mewling and panting loudly into the crook of louis’ neck when he can’t do it anymore and has to flop down to brace himself against louis’ chest, his curls screwed up in tufts on his hot head. his thighs are aching and his arse is burning and his heart is pounding in his chest a million miles a minute but when louis pulls the boy closer to his lips by a tug at his paper airplane necklace... well, harry is vulnerable and unable to resist. 

the doncaster lad nips at harry’s bruised upper lip and then comes with a grunt into his best friend’s arse; harry simply whimpers and continues to bounce on louis’ cock (because that’s what he’s meant to do - it’s protocol in a way) before he comes with a shudder rippling through his body to the wrecked whisper of “come for me, sweetheart” cooed in his ear.

in times like this, when their cheeks are flushed an identical colour and their skin is matted with tell tale bruises that indicates where the other has been, harry can’t help but get a tug in the pit of his stomach with some unknown emotion he can never really place. it feels like home, like possession, like something harry really fucking wants to have with louis the rest of his life. it screams domesticity and happiness and white picket fences and hushed murmurs in the dead of the night and proud smiles. however, it’s also times like these, when louis will grin cheekily and pull out of harry’s sore arse with a remnant of a wince. when louis will peck harry on the cheek and chuck him the shirt that he can’t quite find in the scattered line of clothing from the door to the sofa. when louis will ignore the fact that he just had his best friend bounce on his cock in the living room. when louis will go back to normal. the hurt that stems from those dimming moments probably shoot pain and rejection hotter than harry will ever care to admit. 

but he takes it like a good boy and smiles widely with his flushed cheeks and fumbling fingers and will pull louis into a tight hug before going back out into the cold with sorrow tainting his stupid heart and tears pricking the corners of his eyes.

the tears, of course, must be the wind that whips around his face and takes him back a couple of steps. of course.

-

/i love you/ louis always says afterwards.

/i’m in love with you/ harry always thinks afterwards.

-

to say that harry loves london is an understatement and to say that harry prefers the sweaty high street night clubs to the hole-in-the-wall pubs that niall has a large amount of affection to would also be an understatement. so, when they go out to his favourite night club three nights before liam’s birthday harry is full of grins and buzzing excitement.   
niall puts himself in charge of organising it and lets liam pick their tops (which turn out to be gray low v-necks and harry thanks danielle’s influence on the soon-to-be birthday boy’s fashion sense) and harry gets the choose the nightclub and louis gets to bring along nick, (which /no/ harry doesn’t gets pissy and turn off his phone for the whole night when that is decided) and that leaves niall with just getting himself out of bed in time. 

when they arrive, harry’s green eyes try to ignore louis’ and nick’s clasped hands and the possessive pair of lips that aren’t his on his best friend’s skin and instead gaze out to the gyrating sweaty bodies on the dance floor. 

“c’mon haz bear!” niall laughs loudly in his ear and harry jumps slightly, cheeks flushing.

“okay” he replies although he’s about one hundred and seven percent sure that niall can’t hear him over the macklemore remix. niall drags the reluctant yet willing (to get away from the lovesick couple that is louis and nick) curly haired boy onto the dance floor; they dance with exaggerated dance moves and harry forces himself to laugh at the stupid   
facial expressions that the irish boy is pulling with each stamp of his foot and shake of his shoulders. niall’s irish so a drinker he is; but a dancer he is not. 

it sure as hell makes for great comedic value, though.

eventually, niall finds himself merging off into the crowd with a giddy red head grinning up at him with a large, rambunctious laugh that matches niall’s and leaving harry with an insistent blonde hanging off his waist which he quickly (and nervously) laughs off before he makes his way over to the crowded bar. 

the bartender is fit, he notices, and harry promptly orders a strong drink with a cheeky grin, his eyes raking over the man’s broad chest and slim waist. a small thought of the bottle of tequila he had consumed with niall beforehand being the cause of his interest in the fit man under the strobe lights passes through his brain before he shakes it away. harry styles /can/ handle his liquor and he can go out and appreciate a bloke without the nagging guilt or longing for louis to be under his arm buzz at the back of his befuddled mind.

“what’s ya name, love?” the fit bartender asks and harry has to blink twice; wow, his voice is really /nice/.

harry grins and licks his lips. “harry.”

the fit bartender smirks back and slides over harry’s drink with a cheeky wink. harry likes him, he decides and grins wider than before. “i’m miles” he offers and drags his teeth over his bottom lips and harry can sense it’s deliberate; everything about miles’ movement is deliberate -- the way he grazes his fingers over harry’s as he slides over his second drink; the way his eyes rakes over harry’s exposed chest and collar bones shamelessly in appreciation; and the way he’s speaking in slow, soft tones so that harry has to pay extra attention to him. 

it fascinates harry, if he’s honest with himself.

harry loves flirting; the adrenaline of it and the anticipation, of giving and receiving an array of compliments and exchanging cheeky smiles and watching the other’s lips and eyes and hands and just memorising every part of them and committing it to memory. flirting brings out sides of people that they’d never usually permit for other people to see, and harry supposes that’s why he enjoys it so much -- to break down walls and witness the carefree side of someone’s character.

the pair find themselves leaning over the bar in order to get closer to each other, both abandoning the premise of everyone else around them; and honestly, harry couldn’t give a flying fuck if he were distracting miles from his work because, wow, his eyes are really nice and his lips are really pretty and he smells so good and harry bets that he would fucking wreck him and...

... and then harry can feel himself being yanked back by the wrist which causes him to stumble a bit until he’s pressed back against a hard chest with hot breath on his neck.   
“hi, love” the silky smooth voice that is wrecked with jealousy and coldness passes his eardrums seductively. louis? shit, that’s louis, louis holding him by the waist possessively and fingers digging into curves of his hips and louis’ lips on the length of his neck and louis’ cold eyes peering over his shoulder to glare at miles. at least miles has the decency to look intimidated -- at least, harry /thinks/ he’s just putting that face on for show. but nothing makes sense in his lazy with alcohol mind.

“lou?” harry sounds out in a slur and even he can hear the confusion in his voice. louis’ grip tightens on him and a hiss of pleasure leaves his mouth. louis is never dominant or close like this in public and to finally have what he’s been aching for sends shockwaves of euphoria through his warm veins.

miles raises an eyebrow. “hey haz, who’s this?” he asks nonchalantly and harry curses inwardly. he recognises the fact that he gets pissy when other people call him by the nickname that louis had christened with within the first few minutes of their meeting. so, to have a complete stranger use that on harry in front of louis sure as hell won’t bring up /good/ consequences. 

“i’m his boyfriend” louis growls out and before harry can even register shock or surprise or anger or happiness or any kind of emotion in his system, louis has steered the curly haired boy away from the bar and through the heavy, writhing bodies in the crowd. 

it’s not until they’re outside and louis is hailing a cab for them both before harry reacts.

“you’re an asshole!” he spits out and tries to push away from louis’ tight grip on his waist but the hold is almost inhuman so he quickly gives up, soundly settling on glaring at the unamused boy.

louis rolls his eyes. “shut up harry.”

“no!” he protests and clenches his jaw to the point of it giving out an ache. he’s drunk but he’s not gonna let louis treat him like shit. “you can’t just waltz in, act all lovey-dovey with that /prick/,” harry spits and they both know what prick he’s talking about. “then get in a fucking mood because i was flirting with miles -- who was really fit and totally into me, by the way -- and drag me away like you own me! because, i’m not being fucking funny louis tomlinson, i am not /yours/!”

“harry-”

“hey, no!” harry shouts again. “i am /not/ your boyfriend so you have /no/ claim on me whatsoever!”

“for all intents and purposes, i /do/ have a claim on you harry edward styles, whether you’re my boyfriend or fucking /not/!” 

“fuck o-”

louis lets out a strangled growl and within seconds, the older boy has harry pinned to the wall of the dark alleyway that is situated next to the nightclub. the brick of the wall nips into harry’s back and the thin material of his tank top isn’t much of a defense against the hardness of the building. harry’s wide eyes -- too keyed up to ignore the way that despite his size, louis is looming over him dominantly and harry tries to ignore the swelling of his cock in his tight pants at the dominance swirling in his dark irises. louis is breathing heavily with his hands wrapped tightly around harry’s hips to keep him in his place and harry has to bite back a whimper, his body willingly melting back into the alleyway wall which gives room for louis to press their bodies flushed together. 

“now, darling,” louis begins in a soft voice and harry suddenly wishes that louis would just shout at him instead because he can take that -- harry can take the angry tones and the flaring nostrils and the loud curses. what he can’t take is the soft tones that seem a million times more dangerous at the low volume. “i’m not sure if you’d noticed but,” he pauses again to press his crotch flush against harry’s and the vulnerable boy whines high in his throat. “you’re /mine/. that bastard is never going to touch you -- he might be able to wank over you tonight when he gets home but he’s never going to be able to touch you, yeah?” louis smirks and harry can see with wide eyes that louis is enjoying this. “he’s never going to be able to touch your hips or smack your arse in the middle of a handjob or suck you off or claim your arse like i can because you’re /mine/” the older boy growls out and grabs harry’s crotch with one hand in a movement of roughness that leaves harry breathless at the same time that his other hand grabs harry’s chin in his thumb and forefinger so that harry will look him in the eyes. “yes?” he grits through his teeth and harry whimpers. 

“yes” he gasps out, anger forgotten in the crowd of eager submission and hungry eyes. 

louis smirks. “now get in my fucking car” he hisses out and releases harry for the boy to scramble to the silver car parked only a street away, his cheeks flushed from both the heat in his body and the cold whipping his skin. he awaits by the passenger door obediently for louis.

louis’ boyfriend is the farthest thing from harry’s mind as the warmth of louis’ hand on his thigh as he drives through the naked streets shoots anticipation and excitement through his body. the boy shifts in his seat and tries not to whine.

harry is pinned roughly to the door as soon as louis drags him into his own flat with a tight grip on his wrist that has him moaning from the dominating pleasure.  
“you’re mine, harry styles” louis breathes harshly against harry’s ear and the younger boy whimpers, his hips bucking up in acknowledgement. “all yours,” he gasps and his eyes widen as one of louis’ hands come to clamp over harry’s mouth; effectively silencing the boy. “no talking” louis hisses and harry lets out a muffled moan into the damp skin.   
their hips move in a torturously slow synchronisation, skin bumping and crotches grinding against each other eagerly. harry can’t place when or where they removed their clothes -- but he knows that it was most likely in a frenzy -- but now harry is stood stark naked with a heaving chest and dark pupils whilst louis is pressed up against him in his black jeans, buckle undone and hard cock freed.

“hands and knees; my bed; now.” louis rasps out and harry nods eagerly, his eyes wide. louis steps back with a smirk and allows harry to move away from the door. the eager boy does so with a stumble and blushes because he’s naked, horny and breathless as he rushes into the bedroom. he climbs onto the bed and rests on his hands and knees, limbs already shaky from what he knows is coming. 

it seems like he’s been waiting for an entire lifetime before he feels the hardness of louis’ cock pressed against the crease of his arse and the bed dip with the new weight. harry has to fight a moan. 

louis runs a rough hand over the hot skin of harry’s back and dips down to nip harshly at several parts of harry’s pale back, leaving angry red bruises and marks in his wake. he hears the squirt of the lube that louis always keeps close over his best friend’s finger and then he can feel louis’ fingers enter him from behind. it’s sudden and unexpected and harry cries out and squeezes his eyes shut, overwhelmed as louis pumps his fingers in and out of harry’s tightness before removing them with a bite to harry’s neck a few minutes later. louis is rock hard behind harry and the curly haired boy tugs at his bottom lip with his front teeth so that he can at least attempt to stop his sounds of arousal and need to escape from his parted lips. 

“lou,” harry mumbled when the wait was too long and all louis had done was nip at his back and stroke his hips in a torturously slow motion with his harsh breath at his ear causing the boy to feel lightheaded and hornier than before. in response, louis smacks his right hand painfully hard over harry’s arse; harry’s breath hitches in his throat as he freezes before crying out a moan. he can feel louis’ smirk against his neck as his best friend massages the red skin.

“does my pretty little slut like that, baby?” louis murmured against harry’s skin and the younger boy nods. “yeah, lou, i-” louis smacks him again. “i said no fucking talking” louis hisses and smacks him again, leaving harry a moaning and writhing mess on the bed sheets.

louis delivers another three hard smacks to his red arse, each smack harder than the last and harry is sobbing into the pillow, head first. “now, harry, you can talk and respond to my next few questions. but you still have to be a good boy, understand?” louis speaks in a low voice, his voice wrecked and harry wants to turn and see what he looks like. are louis’ pupils blown and dark like his? is his cock as hard and wanton as his is? are his cheeks flushed and hands aching to touch everywhere and anywhere he can?  
“well?” louis growls into harry’s ear and smacks his arse again, bringing harry back to the reality.

harry gasps and pushes back into the touch, nodding firmly. “yeah, louis, yeah” he breaths and bites his lip.

“good” louis murmurs hotly and harry can sense the triumph and dominance in his voice. louis licks his lips and his tongue slowly traces along harry’s earlobe, causing the boy to shiver, his eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks.

“who do you belong to?”

“you”

“good boy. are you hard right now?”

harry whimpers out a breathy “god, yes”

“very nice, darling. do you want me to fuck you?”

“please”

“now, be honest with me, sweetheart, did you enjoy talking to that bastard at the bar? ” louis smiles all too sweetly and harry’s breath catches in his throat. it feels like there’s a catch.

the truth is, he did. he loved being able to talk to a hot male that was interested in him and that was actually able to interact with him in such a teasing and flirting manner. he couldn’t have that with louis -- the one person he truly wanted it to be with -- but he liked having miles looking at him like /that/ and having that small promise of miles touching him like /that/ and maybe having it lead somewhere less painful than it was with louis. so yes, he did enjoy it.

and for some stupid reason, he tells louis so in a breathy whimper, the prolonging of louis barely touching him gnawing at his self resolve. “yes”

louis lets out a humourless chuckle and bites into harry’s neck which elicits a loud moan that ricochets around the quiet room before he can hear louis slicking himself up with a discarded bottle of lube that lays on the bed next to louis’ knees. 

“you can give me one more response, honey. so, do you deserve to be fucked with my big hard cock up your arse?”

before harry can respond, louis slams himself into harry’s tight hole and the curly haired boy screams out, his fingers grasping at the headboard of the bed, his legs almost giving out at the tilt of his best friend’s position. louis bottoms out before almost pulling out all the way then pounding back into harry’s arse with laboured, harsh breaths against his neck and rough hands grabbing and pulling at harry’s hips to push their hips closer together. 

louis falls into a merciless rhythm that has harry mewling and panting loudly into the fabric of the bedsheets and pillow when he can’t do it anymore and has to flop down to brace himself his curls screwed up in tufts on his hot head. his thighs are aching and his arse is burning and his heart is pounding in his chest a million miles a minute and when he comes untouched mere minutes later, harry can’t find any room in his body to feel guilty or ashamed -- especially when louis comes with a groan and a clutch of harry’s skin before collapsing on his body. 

“my pretty cock slut” louis murmurs into harry’s mouth once he has them cleaned up and bodies pressed face to face, his breath sweet and mingling into harry’s mouth. harry is weak and vulnerable and is simply tracing patterns into louis’ skin.

louis stays the night but is gone the next morning, leaving harry in the cold bed with tears streaming down his face.

-

louis is zipping up his pants after having fingered harry on the floor of harry’s game room in his spacious flat and fucking him over the pool table. he grins childishly at harry and pecks harry on the lips before he’s turning his back.

the turning of louis’ back hits harry like a wave, all the last two years of fucking behind closed doors and cold beds in the fresh early mornings and the filthily whispered promises and the booming laughter hiding the sorrow and want and the bare skin and the thick walls and the secret smiles and the disappointment and the inside jokes and the rushed phone calls and harry doesn’t want that; he doesn’t want any of that. he wants to be louis’; exclusively and happily and totally but he can’t be, and that realisation has cut him up for months; months filled with unhappiness and sorrow and disappointment and longing. 

“louis, i can’t fuck- i- i’m not doing this anymore!” harry screams at louis’ turned back. his best friend stops, and twists his body around again to frown at harry with a confused tilt to his lips,

“do what?” he asks and harry wants to cry.

“this!” he sobs and rakes a hand through his tangled curls. “i don’t want to help you fucking cheat on your asshole of a boyfriend and have this horrible feeling in my gut once you leave me because it fucking /hurts/ louis! i can’t breathe when you’re not here and it’s even /harder/ to breathe when you’re not and i just -- i can’t do it!”

louis gathers harry in his arms in a sudden movement and harry sobs into louis’ shirt, stuck between the fields of wanting to push him away and scream some more and wanting to just stay in louis’ arms forever and never leave his best friend’s embrace. he curses himself for the mixed feelings because it shouldn’t be this hard, just being held by his best friend.

louis hushes the sobbing boy and wipes away the tears with his thumbs, his lips pecking several kisses to harry’s forehead. “you won’t stop, though” louis whispers and the sound is deafening in the quiet room.

harry wants to shake his head and deny it and cry some more and punch something or someone but the fact is that -- as per usual -- louis is 100% right. harry will go on doing this until he fucking dies -- and whether his death will be physically or mentally, it’s going to happen. 

louis smiles gently -- apologetically -- then runs his hand through harry’s hair before stepping back and walking through the door. 

“i’ll see you tomorrow haz.” 

and then louis is gone and harry is left again; and the hole seems to have deepened. the curly haired boy sobs again and punches in a number into his mobile phone before deleting the digits from the keypad and throwing his phone across the room in a move of annoyance. 

he just wants to be alone.


End file.
